


Happy Christmas.  I Love You, Baby.

by ourlittlesecret



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angry Sex, Angst, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Drinking, Drugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourlittlesecret/pseuds/ourlittlesecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi.</p>
<p>Merry Christmas, I wrote this for you all.  I was listening to Fairytale of New York, by The Pogues, the other day and I saw a vision of Harry and Louis.</p>
<p>So I wrote it.  Please forgive any discrepancies in regards to historal information.  I wanted to get this out before the season was through, and as they say, never let the truth get in the way of a good story.</p>
<p>Anyway, thanks for reading, as always.  This is my gift to you.  You're welcome/I'm sorry.  And I love you all.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Happy Christmas.  I Love You, Baby.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.
> 
> Merry Christmas, I wrote this for you all. I was listening to Fairytale of New York, by The Pogues, the other day and I saw a vision of Harry and Louis.
> 
> So I wrote it. Please forgive any discrepancies in regards to historal information. I wanted to get this out before the season was through, and as they say, never let the truth get in the way of a good story.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, as always. This is my gift to you. You're welcome/I'm sorry. And I love you all.

**Christmas Eve, 1955**

_Louis_

 

Louis had put up a good fight, he really had, tried to explain the situation, but it had been of no use.  Each of the cops outweighed him by fifty pounds at least, and by Louis’ calculations, it was an unfair advantage.  

“You wanna make a call?” one of them said in his thick New York accent, and before Louis had even answered, he was getting shoved toward the wall.  “Make it quick.”

Louis wiped his grimy hands on his grimier pants, and picked up the phone, dialing the number, hoping there’d be an answer.

“Hello?”  The voice on the other end was glum, sounded thick with alcohol, or something worse probably, but Louis couldn’t be bothered.

“I got on a lucky one!” he said into the receiver, barely registering the way his loud exclamation grabbed the attention of everyone in the vicinity.  “Harry, it came in eighteen to one.  I’ve got a feeling--”

“Where are you?”  

“Harry, this is it, this is our lucky year.  We can do it, this time, this year’s for us, baby, it’s for me and you.”

“Where are you calling from, Louis?”  Harry’s voice was flat on the other end of the line, and it annoyed Louis, so he pressed on.

“Did you hear what I said?  I got lucky--this year’s for me and you.  Happy Christmas!  I love you, baby.  All our dreams are going to come true.”  Louis could hear the panic in his own voice, even in his drunken state; he sounded shrill and needy.

“I’ve heard that before,” Harry said dully.  “Hasn’t come true yet,” he added morosely.  

“Baby.”

“Where are you,” Harry asked again, and Louis could tell he already knew.  

“I, uh, got picked up downtown.  Celebrating with some mates, you know.  Niall and Liam were down there.  A big misunderstanding, that’s all it was, but they’re being extra tight with it being Christmas Eve and all, and they wouldn't’ believe me when I told them I wasn’t even drunk!”

“Of course.”

“Just grab a cab and come get me, I’ve got the money to cover it,” Louis told him, patting his pockets.  “Or….”  As he reached into his jacket pocket he pulled out what remained of his winnings, and realized he had spent more than he had realized.  

“Or you’ve already spent it all, so you can’t cover a cab after all.”

“It’s not what you think, Harry.  Call Niall, he’ll come get me.  I’ve bought you a present,” Louis tried, hoping the thought of a gift on Christmas morning would cheer Harry up.  “Something special for you to open on Christmas morning.”  That was true.  He had rushed down to the shop to pick up something perfect for Harry, a silk scarf that he had noticed Harry admiring the last time they were window shopping in a neighborhood in which they typically couldn’t even afford a cup of joe.  

“Too bad you won’t be here for Christmas morning,” Harry spat.  Louis wasn’t one to judge, but Harry was definitely slurring his words.  

“You can’t be serious.”

“Happy Christmas, Lou,” Harry said bitterly.  

“Harry!”  Louis shouted into the phone before he heard the telltale click.  

Harry had hung up.  Harry was not going to come get him.  

Louis was going to spend Christmas Eve in the drunk tank.

He knew the drill, emptying his pockets and putting them in a nondescript envelope to be picked up when he was released the next day.  The man behind the window smiled sadly.  “Merry Christmas, Louis,” he said.  

“And to you, Mike,” he answered.  “Say hello to the wife,” he added, thinking it sounded like the right thing to say, though if he was thinking clearly, he’d realize that Michael probably didn’t go home to his wife and talk about the drunken fools that he knew by name.  

His meagre possession handed over, Louis shoved his hands in his pockets, shivering against the chill in the air, as the officer led him into a cell.  “Have a good night, Louis,” he said, locking the door between them.  “Merry Christmas.”

Louis grunted and sat down on the bench.  He leaned against the cold cinder block wall and looked over at the man across the cell.  

The man nodded to him, but Louis was not in the mood to talk to anyone else, and so he tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Merry Christmas,” the man said roughly, and suddenly, Louis had had quite enough of those two words.  Merry Christmas indeed.  Christmas could kiss his ass.  And it had been such a promising start, too.  Louis let his eyes drift back toward the man.  He was at least fifty, an old fifty, his skin brown and leathery, heavily wrinkled. No doubt from working outside for most of his life.  Construction maybe, Louis pondered, even though he didn’t really care.  

“Same to you,” Louis said, figuring he might as well be cordial to the man he’d be spending the night with.  Christmas Eve, no less.  

“Thank you, sir,” he said, his head bobbing unsteadily.  “Figure I won’t live to see another one.”

Louis couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, didn’t want to hear another sob story from some drunken sod he’d never see again.  He had plenty of those for friends--he didn’t need another one.  

They sat in silence for a while, the noise of the other patrons growing quieter with every minute that passed, aside from a rowdy cheer when someone recognized a friend getting led to another cell.  It was a full house tonight.

Louis, his eyes closed, and his heart heavy, sighed at the thought of his conversation with Harry.  It had gone so much more differently than he had thought, but even as frustrated as he was, as much as he wanted to figure out a way to fix it, and make this Christmas the one he had meant it to be.

“ _Let grasses grow and waters flow, In a free and easy way_ ,” the old man started singing in his rough, gravelly voice, no doubt worn raw by tobacco and moonshine.  “ _But give me enough of the rare old stuff, that's made near Galway Bay.”_

Louis didn’t know the song well, but he recognized it as some old Irish song, something that Niall had sung on occasion when he was particularly deep in drink.  

Louis turned his face away, leaning over and curling up on the bare steel bench, tucking an arm under his head.  His hopeful enthusiasm had dwindled to melancholy, and all he wanted was to remember a time when they were happy, when he wasn’t a fuck up, when Harry was still the wide eyed boy, filled with hope and wonder, that he had met in Time’s Square in 1952.

 

**Christmas Eve, 1952**

_Harry_

 

Harry looked around him in wonder.  New York was like nothing he had ever seen, nothing like the small village in England where he had spent every day of his 19 years.  It wasn’t quite as big as the tales he had heard from travellers, friends who had been lucky enough to leave and who wrote fantastical letters back home to their families.  The cars were something else, but not quite the size of the pubs he had been to, and he hadn’t seen a river of gold yet, but he wasn’t sure they didn’t exist.  But the world was his oyster now, as they said, and he was going to find his own river of gold, of that he was certain.  

It was cold, and he pulled his worn stocking cap down on his ears, trapping the curls inside, and snuggled deeper into his threadbare coat.  His nose was dripping from the wind whipping around him, but he ignored that and his icy fingers, staring instead at the lights and swarms of happy people around him.  There was music all around him, shouts and cheers for more after each song finished, and he moved through the throng to get a look at where the singing was coming from.  It was no use, though, trapped as he was among the people, but he didn’t mind.  He didn’t mind at all.  

“Oh, sorry mate,” he heard at the same moment someone collided with him, slamming into his back.  Harry stumbled, but managed to catch himself before he fell--or rather, it was the hand of the stranger who had bumped into him gripping his arm that steadied him, as he regained his footing.

He turned to look at the culprit, who was looking at him with shining blue eyes, an apologetic look on his face.  “You look quite cheery for someone who nearly got trampled.  I’d of knocked over the arse who tried to shove me to the ground.”

“Were you trying to shove me to the ground?”

The boy laughed.  “Heavens no,” he exclaimed, “but I’m the type that hits first and asks questions later...or doesn’t ask questions at all.  You must be new here.”

Harry smiled.  The boy was still gripping his arm, mischief playing on his face, hair windblown, and the tux he was wearing highlighting his slim build.  

He was quite handsome.

“You’re quite pretty,” he said to Harry, leaning in close so he could hear him properly over the crowd, and Harry blushed.  Harry was sure the boy must be drunk.  “I’m Louis, by the way.”

“Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harold,” Louis said, letting go of his arm and offering his hand.  They shook firmly.

“It’s Harry.”

“Oh, yes, I heard you.  Harold is better though, sound more important.”

Harry might have been offended if someone else had said the same thing, but it sounded charming coming from Louis’ mouth.

“Oi!  Louis!  Come on, then!” Someone shouted over Louis’ shoulder.  He turned and looked for the face that belonged to the voice.

“Over here, Niall, I’ve found our fourth!”  He pulled Harry in close.  “Got any plans tonight?”  Harry shook his head hesitantly, more than a little confused.  “Great, you’re coming with us then.”  Louis tugged the neck of Harry’s coat open, examining his clothing.  “That the best you’ve got?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.  Before Harry could answer again, he was being pulled along by Louis, who was shouting introductions.  “Niall, this is Harry.  Harry, my mate Niall.  And Liam, he’s here too, somewhere.  Where’s Liam, Niall?” Louis shouted over his shoulder.

“I’m right here,” Liam said from behind Niall.  

“Ah yes.  Come on lads, we’ve got to get something for Harry to wear, and then we’re golden!”

“Where--where are we going,” Harry asked, still confused, not quite sure he should be running off with someone he had just met.  His mother had warned him--extensively--about talking to strangers and getting involved with the wrong crowd, and he felt a bit apprehensive.  Though this was a clean cut boy, in what appeared to be an expensive tux, and two friends who were dressed much the same.  Surely this would be okay.

“Sinatra, love.  He’s playing right now at Radio City Music Hall, but we’re on the list for a private party afterwards.  Be quick about it, we’re running late!”  Harry followed quickly, still not sure what was happening, even when he was shoved into a doorway.  But if Louis and his friends were invited to a private party that Sinatra would be at, then surely, surely his mother would approve.  “Here, change into this,” he said, pulling a sack from Liam’s arms.  “Paddy is a bit bigger than you, I’d say, but it should do.”  Of course, Harry wasn’t sure his mother would approve of this--stripping down in a freezing doorway and changing into someone else’s suit.  He was in too deep, now, and he dressed quickly while the other boys surrounded him.  

“Okay,” he said feebly.  

“Amazing,” Louis said, and Harry could detect a hint of wonder in his tone. It felt good, to be noticed.  They had only known each other for ten minutes, and Louis had already called him pretty, amazing, and deemed him worthy of entrance to a private party.  Perhaps America really did have rivers of gold.

“Uh, what about my clothes,” he said, looking on as Liam stowed them in the sack the suit had come out of.  It was his best shirt, best pants, and he couldn’t lose them, not when his mother had spent what little money and time she had had making sure they were ready for the journey.  

“No worries, young Harold.  Liam here is in charge, and Liam is very responsible.  He’ll take good care of your clothes.”

Harry wasn’t so sure as he looked at Liam, though he did look rather serious, but he didn’t have too much time to ponder it.  

“Alright, you wait here,” Louis told Harry.  “I just need to have a chat with the lads, and then we’ll be off.”

Harry did what he was told, shifty and a little uncomfortable in clothes that weren’t his, but he watched as Louis, Liam and Niall huddled together, their heads bobbing animatedly in turn.  As quickly as they had huddled up, they broke apart again, and Louis took a few long strides toward him, grabbing his hand.  “Come on, then,” he said kindly, squeezing Harry’s bare hand in his.  “Your hands are freezing,” he said into Harry’s ear, and Harry could do nothing but grin nervously.  Louis held tight, though, and didn’t let go.  

“Here’s the deal, okay?  Don’t speak at the door.  I’ve got it under control.  Just--just act like you belong.”

Harry nodded in agreement; something about Louis made him want to do anything he said.  He was fairly certain that if Louis had told him to jump off a bridge at that very moment, Harry would have done it.  

They made it into the party without any trouble, though the three boys fell into fits of giggles once they were past the doorman, laughing so hard that they were slapping their knees, leaning against walls for support, and struggling for breath.

“What’s so funny?”  

They all looked at him and began laughing again, Niall clapping Harry on the back with rather a lot of force.  “Nothing mate, nothing at all,” he said, before falling into laughter again.  

“Come on,” Louis said to Louis, leaving Niall and Liam to catch their breath.  “Let’s dance.”

“Dance?  With you?”

“Unless you’d rather not?”

“Yeah, but here?  In public?”

“This isn’t public for one.”

“But, won’t they...can we….”

“This lot will hardly care,” Louis answered.  “Look around.”

And Harry did.  He looked around and saw more wealth and riches than he could ever imagine.  He also saw all sorts of people, black, white, everything in between, more diversity than he had seen in England in his lifetime.  Beyond that, there were couples dressed in finery, women dancing with women, pairs of men tangled close against the walls.  

“No place like it in the world,” Louis said in an awe-filled whisper.  “At least not yet.  Free to be whatever you want here.  No small feat to get in, either, but we managed alright.”

_America_ , Harry thought, and he tangled his fingers with Louis’.  “Do you go to these things often, then?”

Louis laughed loudly at that.  “Hardly, my dear.  Just a few strokes of luck that got us here tonight.  Might not happen again, best to make the most of it.”  And with that, Louis waltzed him onto the dance floor.  

Harry had often wondered about himself, wondered what was wrong with him, why he was so different, why the girls never interested him further than what bows they were wearing in their hair, why he always wanted to spend more time with his mates from school, while they were chasing everything in a skirt.  But here, with Louis, in this place, in this country, he didn’t feel so strange at all.  

He felt like he belonged.  

They danced for ages, Sinatra singing his hits at the front of the room, decked out couples swirling around them as he and Louis danced closely.  

The night was over before they knew it though, and suddenly Harry found himself out in the cold again, Liam shoving the sack of discarded clothes into his arms, with promises of collecting the suit he was wearing another day.  “I’m not pressing my luck, lads,” he said as he backed away.  “I’m heading home before we get caught.”

Niall chuckled, amused that Liam was still afraid they’d be found out, though the evening was nearly through, but he offered his farewells, embracing Louis, and promising to buy Harry a pint the next time they saw each other.

And then it was just the two of them.  

They walked quietly down the street, not as crowded as before, most people going home to wrap their final gifts, and get ready for large family affairs in the morning.  The thought made Harry a bit sad, spending Christmas alone for the first time, and suddenly he was very homesick.  He knew that at the moment, his sister was probably still sleeping soundly, while his mother was probably just waking up, getting ready to cook Christmas breakfast, and he wondered if they missed him at all.  

Louis tugged at his sleeve once they made it to the corner.  They had walked several blocks at that point, and the streets here were deserted.  

“You danced like Fred Astaire, back there,” Louis said, breaking the silence.  “And you can sing, too.  I heard you.”  

“I dabble,” Harry answered, not sure how to take what Louis said.  Perhaps he was just being nice.

“I’m serious, Harold.  Broadway doesn’t know what they’re missing.  You could have it all.”

“Yeah, well.”  It was Harry’s dream, really, to be dancing on stage in a Broadway theatre.  He hadn’t voiced that to many people, though.  Only his sister knew that it was the real reason he had come to New York.

“I’m serious,” Louis said concentrating his gaze on Harry’s eyes.  “Talented, and beautiful, to boot.  You’re going to be a star.”

Harry felt a warmth spreading under his skin; though the wind was bitingly cold through the thin material of the borrowed jacket he was wearing, he hardly noticed it.  “Maybe,” he offered, not knowing what else to day.  “Thank you for saying that.”  Louis comments made him think that maybe his dream wasn’t so foolish after all.

“I’m this way,” Louis said, inclining his head toward the block in front of him.  

“I’m down that way,” Harry said, pointing to where they had just come from, only just realizing they had walked several blocks out of his way.  

“Could have dropped you off at home, then,” Louis said softly, stepping closer.  

Harry looked into his eyes.  “Thank you, so much, for tonight.  I never expected--”

“Ah, well, it’s not every day I bump into a beautiful stranger.”

The compliment made Harry blush for the millionth time that night.  He wasn’t used to handsome men showering him with compliments.

“Do you know your way back,” Louis asked him.  

“Yes,” Harry said, wishing he they didn’t have to part.  He wanted to go home with Louis and never leave his side.  Maybe it was just because the evening had been so magical, but Harry thought it was more than that, thought that he’d never get tired of the way Louis looked at him, the way Louis’ hand felt tangled with his.  

Louis grabbed his hand, and tugged him in close, wrapping his free arm around Harry’s waist, their clasped hands tucked between their bodies.  “It’s been a pleasure, Harry,” Louis said softly.

“All mine,” Harry whispered.

And then Louis kissed him.  

 

**Christmas Eve, 1953**

_Louis_

 

“You’re a bum,” Harry shouted, stalking through the flat.  “You’re a useless punk who thinks being a thug and a cheat is the way to go.”

“Me?  You’re the slut who’s always strung out on that shit your friends keep giving you.  Thinking you’re cool because you wear all black and you’re fucking artsy or some shit.  Saying you’re off writing, _creating,_ when all you’re really doing is getting high on that heroin shit and fucking each other until you can’t move.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open at that, but Louis didn’t care.  He didn't’ care if it was true or if he was being mean.  He just didn’t care.  

He might also be slightly drunk.  Because he had stopped by the pub after work and had a pint with Niall.  Or maybe two.  Or maybe several, but he had lost count after a while, and after all, it was Christmas Eve and he was in the mood to celebrate.  

Or at least drink until he could forget about his stupid fucking boss who had fucking fired him the week of Christmas.  What kind of prick would do that?  Nevermind that Louis hadn’t quite been a stellar employee.  And he may have ditched work twice last week to go to the track.  Still.  His boss--former boss--was a prick.

“You’re an asshole, Lou.  God I can’t believe it.  You said you’d be here tonight, and instead you get pissed with Niall, and show up after everyone’s left.  Do you know how embarrassing that was?  To host a party here, in our home, while you’re out getting fucked?  It’s fucking Christmas Eve, Louis.  All I wanted was one nice evening.”

Harry wasn’t entirely wrong, but.  “Like you even noticed.  You’re high as a kite--your pupils are like fucking saucers, and this place smells like shit.  Marijuana?  I told you I hate the fucking smell, and yet the entire place reeks of it.”

“It was a party,” Harry practically whined, and it made Louis furious.  

“So you’re allowed to have a party, but I can’t go out and have a few drinks with my friend?  I was--I was celebrating, and I didn’t want to come in here while you and your pretentious friends discuss literature, wearing all black like it’s some kind of funeral?  And take that hat off, you look like a twat.”

Harry looked at him sharply, taking a drag off of the cigarette pressed between his lips, and tossed the hat aside.  “Happy now?”

Louis was across the room in milliseconds, grabbing on to Harry and forcing him against the wall.  “Fuck you,” he said, as he kissed Harry hungrily, not caring if he tasted like cigarettes or marijuana, or some pretentious food that his beatnik friends had brought over, no doubt thinking that a potluck was somehow cool.  

Harry responded in kind, crushing his forgotten cigarette against the glass table, and biting into Louis’ lip.  It hurt, but Louis didn’t care.  Maybe he even deserved it.  He grunted, and dug his fingers into Harry’s hips.

“I hate you,” Harry said to him, but it only made Louis want him more.  He didn’t care that things had gone to shit, that Harry hated him, that all they did was fight, that there was barely enough money to keep a flat, or support his gambling habit, or Harry’s drug habit.  They made it, though, somehow.  And Louis didn’t care to give a second though to the long term potential--or lack thereof--of what was between them.  All he cared about was the way Harry slotted his thigh between Louis’ legs, grinding against his cock, pulling at him roughly.  Louis grabbed a fist full of Harry’s hair and yanked, nearly knocking his head into the wall as he bit down on Harry’s neck.

“Ow, fucking hell, Lou,” Harry half-complained, but Louis knew he liked it.  He could tell by the way Harry’s fingers pushed against his hip bones, the skin thin, layers of soft flesh worn away by their meagre diet over the last two years.  It hurt, but it felt real, like something that mattered, and so Louis took the pain as pleasure.  

Harry ripped his head from Louis’ grasp and flipped him around, pulling Louis into him as he grabbed at Louis roughly through his trousers.  Louis was already hard, and pushed back into Harry forcefully.  Harry wrapped his arms around Louis to undo his belt, easily slipping a hand inside the pants that were two sizes too big by now.  Louis remembered a time when they were almost snug.  

He groaned as Harry wrapped his fist around him, nothing loving and gentle about it, but it made Louis moan, made his hips thrust forward into Harry’s grip.  

And then he was spinning again, his face colliding with the wall as Harry pushed his pants down, and then fumbled with his own.  Louis looked over and noticed that Harry had barely pushed them past his hips.  Just enough then.  Nothing romantic about this encounter, but Louis didn’t care, Louis needed it.  He needed to take it, take whatever Harry was going to give him, accept it, give it back to him.

Harry wouldn’t be this way if it wasn’t for Louis.  Louis never should have dragged him into that party that Christmas Eve two years ago.

Harry pulled at his hips, Louis’ ass bare, so that he was slightly bent at the waist and his forehead pressed against the plaster.  Harry leaned over him once to leave an imprint of his teeth on his shoulder, then spit into his hand, and wrapped it around himself.  

Louis winced at the anticipation, knowing how Harry was when he was like this, knowing what he wanted, and what it would feel like now.  And later.  He didn’t care.  He just wanted to know that Harry still wanted him, and then maybe, maybe one day things wouldn’t be so fucking awful.

With a grunt, Harry was inside him, and for a few moments, he went slowly, as if there was still some part of him that actually cared how Louis felt, didn’t want to hurt him.  And when Harry was all the way in, stretching Louis out, pausing to let a bit of the burn subside, he bent over Louis’ back, and pressed kisses along his spine, another hand trailing delicate fingers over his throbbing erection.  Louis’ hips stuttered into Harry’s fist.  And for a few moments, it was precious.  

Tender.

Sweet.

Not so sweet was the next moment when one of Harry’s hands was crushing his hip as Harry pounded into him roughly, tugging at Louis’ cock until Louis could barely hold himself up.  Harry realized, knew what this would do to Louis and so he let go of the vice grip on his hip and wrapped an arm around Louis’ waist, bending him just a bit more, so that he knew Louis would feel it, deep inside of him.  Harry slid out again, then in, slowly, teasing, avoiding the place he knew so well, until he didn’t avoid it at all.  It made Louis cry out, and Harry grunted behind him, panting, out again, and in one last time, until he felt Harry come inside of him, filling him with warmth and he bit into his own arm to stifle his own exclamations as he came in Harry’s fist.  

Harry stayed inside him, still holding him around the waist, hand flattened against his concave stomach; and Louis wished they would stay like that forever, so that this could be the thing that kept them from falling apart.  

“Harry,” Louis said, daring to break the silence, but it was the wrong chance to take.  Harry slipped out of, not at all delicately, and dropped his hand at the same time, so that Louis had only the wall for support.

“Liam told me,” Harry said dryly, stepping out of his pants and leaving them in a puddle where he had just stood.  

“Told you what,” Louis asked, still trying to catch his breath.

“That you got fired.  Again.”

Louis straightened and pulled up his trousers, turning to look at Harry where he was disappearing into the bedroom.  

He knew that there was no use explaining.

 

**Christmas Eve, 1954**

_Harry_

 

Harry was vaguely aware of being shaken, of someone shouting his name, but he couldn’t force his eyes open to see what all of the commotion was about.  He kind of hoped he never opened his eyes again.  It had been another year of nothing, of missed opportunities, of Louis’ lies, of missing his family.  He hadn’t had a letter from them in ages, and he hadn’t written them, either, too embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t accomplished anything in his years in New York.  All the money his mother had saved to let him chase his dream had been gone in the first year, and now, well, they were squatting in an abandoned building, with dozens of other people like them coming and going.  

He could hardly tell his mother about that.  And when his sister had suggested she might come try her luck in America, well, that was the last letter he had written.  He had told her he’d send word when she should come, once he had things settled for her, but of course he had never had things settled, and so he had never sent for her.

And now, this was his life.  He remembered that first Christmas in New York, how lovely and magical it had been.  He remembered the way Louis had bumped into him, and how big and happy and larger than life Louis had seemed, how that borrowed tux had fit his curves.  He remembered their first kiss on the corner as twinkling lights danced around them, the way their breath froze in the air.  Those were the things he could see.  

He remembered too, that next morning, Louis showing up at his door with a red face flushed from the cold, and snowflakes melting in his hair.  Harry hadn’t understood how Louis knew where he lived, but it turns out Louis had followed him home, too worried about Harry not being able to find his way home.  “I wasn’t stalking you, I swear,” Louis had said with a blush, his lashes fluttering to his cheeks in embarrassment.

Harry wouldn’t have cared if he had been.  

But that was years ago now, a lifetime, more like.

“Harry, wake the fuck up!!!”

He was getting jostled again, more violently this time, and he was only aware that his fingers were very cold, and he still couldn’t open his eyes.  He was balled up, and he thought maybe he was shivering.  

“Harry, please, god, please wake the fuck up!!!”  He heard the screaming, and he recognized it as Louis, come back from god knows where, probably jobless again, probably drunk off of his ass and penniless, and it would be an even worse Christmas than the last one.  It wasn’t something Harry wanted to confront, so he didn’t fight the pull of the heroin, weighing him down, helping him to forget.

Except it wasn’t doing that any more.  It wasn’t an escape as it had been at first.  Now it was a jail full of memories that haunted and taunted him.

Like memories of the old Louis; he had loved Louis so much.  Louis had been the brightest thing in his life.  Louis could have been someone, anyone, could have had the whole world at his feet.  

_But so could anyone_ , Harry thought.  

“Harry, please baby, please, don’t do this,” he heard through the haze.  Louis was wrapping his arms around Harry, covering him up, and the shaking seemed to subside bit by bit.  “Harry, baby, I love you so much, please, please wake up.”  It was quiet now, Louis’ voice.  Not panicked and screaming, but low and sobbing.  “Pleasepleasepleaseplease, baby, I love you,” Louis chanted, over and over again.  

As much as Harry wanted to give up, a bigger part of him didn’t.  Not until he could look Louis in the eye and tell him.  So he fought it, forced his eyes open to find a blurry Louis with his nose pressed to Harry’s cheek, tears falling down his cheeks.  

A different Harry would have comforted Louis, maybe, but that Harry was gone.

“Oh, thank god,” Louis said when Harry opened his eyes and tried to clear his parched throat.  Louis peppered Harry’s face with kisses, gripping at him, tugging him closer.  

Harry let him, until he stopped.  

“God, Harry, you scared me.  Your lips were blue, and you wouldn't wake up, and I thought, jesus christ, what have I done?  I should never have left you.”

“You should never have found me,” Harry said.  

“What?”  The joy in Louis’ face was wiped away in an instant, and Harry knew it was wrong, but he didn’t care.  

“You took my dreams from me when I first found you.  And now you’re that, and I’m this, and I wish I’d never met you.”

Harry took note of the hurt look on Louis’ face, and he wanted to care, but he just didn’t.  

“I know things are shit right now, Harry, but don’t be like that, love.  It’s Christmas, after all.  Let’s try and have a happy one.”

“Happy Christmas your arse, Lou,” Harry said as he rolled over.  “I hope to god it’s our last.”

 

**Christmas Eve, 1955**

_Harry_

 

The phone was ringing.  Harry didn’t want to answer it, knowing it would be Louis again, begging forgiveness, making excuses.  Harry had thought things had been changing.  He had been clean for months, and Louis hadn’t gotten fired in almost a year.  They had their own flat again, could even afford decent food most of the time.  Harry had been going on auditions, too.  Nothing had quite panned out, but he was getting good feedback nonetheless.  It was something, anyway.  A far cry from where they were a year ago.  

Harry had even managed to scrape together enough money from his wages as an usher at the theater to buy Louis a present.  It had taken him a while to save, but he had done it, and he had bought the navy wool peacoat that Louis had been admiring for weeks.  It wasn’t a particularly original gift, but Louis was still wearing the same coat he had worn that Christmas morning in 1952 when he showed up at Harry’s flat, surprising him with a pound of coffee and some chocolates he had bought for Harry when he barely even knew him.  The coat was worn, dirty, had been through too much, and Harry wanted to give Louis something that would keep him warm.  

Harry listened to the phone ring and he stared at the package underneath the tree, wrapped in fancy paper from Macy’s, looking out of place under the scraggly tree on a carpet they had inherited with the apartment.  

He had bought a bottle of scotch, too, thinking that they could share it, but when Louis hadn’t shown up after work, Harry opened it for himself.  It was half gone by now.

And the phone was still ringing.  Harry kind of wished that they had never gotten the damn thing.  Then he wouldn’t know that Louis had been picked up again.

Though it had been ages since Louis had gotten in trouble, it was all too familiar, and it made the bile twist in Harry’s gut.  

When the phone stopped ringing, Harry found he wasn’t glad at all, but that he had a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he had let Louis down, that maybe he should have just answered, figured out a way to make it down to the precinct, signed for Louis.  

Maybe they could have just pretended it hadn’t happened.

Or maybe, Harry should take the envelope his sister had sent, with enough money for a ticket back home, and get on the next boat out of the hell hole New York had been.   _Rivers of gold, my arse_ , Harry thought glumly, downing another shot of scotch.

He was deep in his thoughts when the shrill ring from the phone started up again, and realizing his earlier regret he walked quickly to the wall and picked it up.  “Hello?”

“Harry mate, it’s Liam.”

“Oh.”  Harry was surprised at his disappointment that it wasn’t Louis.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Liam said.  

“Right, sorry, Merry Christmas Liam.  Tell the girls the same, would you?”

“Of course, of course, but that’s not really why I’m calling.  Listen, Louis is here.”  There was hesitation in Liam’s voice.  He knew all that existed between the two of them; no doubt he expected Harry to hang up at the mention of Louis’ name.”

“Louis?  But he--”

“Yes, listen, don’t hang up.  I know he called you earlier, and it didn’t go so well, but he’s right torn up.  It’s not what you think.”

“It never is, is it.”

“It really isn’t, this time Harry.  It’s not.”

“So you went and rescued him?”

“I didn’t.  Niall did.  See, we had run into each other, the three of us, and we did go for a drink.  Louis was proper happy that he had won his bet, and he wanted to treat us.  But he only had a couple, Harry, and he didn’t even buy but one round.  And he was going to leave, but Niall...well, they’ve fallen on hard times, you know, and the boys are sick, again, and the twins, they’re just babies, but his old lady is to pieces, and there’s barely enough money to put food on the table.  So we went down to the market, Louis insisted, and he bought enough to keep food on the table for them for weeks.  You know how he is...but of course, he got proper excited about all of it, screaming and yelling, and clapping everyone on the back, just happy, you know?  Happy to spend a Christmas with you that wasn’t total shit, but the police showed up, those assholes, and I guess they hadn’t seen him for a while, so they figured he was just completely off his ass with liquor, so they threw him in the van and took him off.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, so like, he’s here now, and I know he’d never tell you what happened, you know how he is, never talking about all the good things he does…..  So, I ran down there soon’s I could, but had to come home first, so I know it’s a bit late now, but Harry, please give him another chance.  He’s afraid to come home.  He knows he fucked up, but it’s not like you’re innocent, mate, you know.”  Liam’s voice had gone soft, no doubt knowing he was treading on delicate ground.  “He’s quite worried about you too.  Said you sounded….”

“Fucked up?”  Harry looked at the half empty bottle on the table across the room.  “It’s not what he thinks,” Harry said quietly.  He supposed he had his own fair share of shit he’d put Louis through--it was unfair to place all the blame on him. He didn’t need to ask why it was Liam calling, either;  everyone knew that Liam was the trustworthy one, the responsible one.  He wouldn’t lie.

“Send him home, then.”

“Listen, if it’s gonna--”

“It’s fine, it’s just hard to, you know, forget.  Even if things have been really great.”

“Yes, well, things have been really awful too, so I think we all get that.”

“Just send him home, Liam.  I’ll see you soon.  Merry Christmas.”

Harry waited, pacing the floor impatiently.  Liam’s family lived close.  It should only be a short while before Louis was coming through the door.  It felt like forever though.  

And then Louis was there, walking through the door quietly with little fanfare, his face hesitant, his eyes shifting nervously, not quite landing on Harry.  

Harry didn’t know whether to laugh with joy or cry with relief, so he just scooped Louis into his arms, burying his face in his neck and holding tight.  

“Ah, Harry,” Louis sighed, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck.  “I’m sorry, love.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Harry choked out.  “It was unfair of me, really.  I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Well, it’s not like your assumption was that off base.  It’s not like you haven’t been right before.”

“I just--I couldn’t bear the thought, Louis, of another disappointment.  But I shouldn’t have put that on you.  I should have listened to you.”

“Don’t, darling, please don’t feel bad.  I don’t blame you.”  

Harry swatted at him through tears, that Louis wiped off his face with his thumbs before pressing his lips to Harry’s.  They kissed for a bit, tears washing away all their former transgressions.

 

“Happy Christmas,” Louis said softly, handing the paper wrapped parcel to Harry, a familiar, but now rare, glint of mischief in his eyes.  “I love you, baby.”

“I got you something, too,” Harry said, moving to pick up the gift from under the tree.  “I saved for months.”  

Louis fingered the ribbon on the box, smiling down at it.  “Last year, do you remember what you said to me?”

“No,” Harry said.  He only remembered that he had been too strung out to move.  He didn’t want to be reminded of what awful things he said.

“You told me that I took all of your dreams from you.”  

Harry gulped at the words, feeling sick.

“But I didn’t Harry.  I know things didn’t work out in some magical way, but I took your dreams, and I made them my own, and I built my life around you.  Because you are special and magical and wonderful.  And maybe it was selfish of me, because I knew that I’d hold you back, from the very first moment I laid my eyes on you, but all I’ve ever wanted was for you to have everything you wanted.”

“Lou--”

“No, just wait,  Listen.  Because the thing is, everything I’ve done, however misguided, was meant to be for you.  And I don’t know how or exactly where it all went off track, why things didn’t work out the way I imaged them, but even at our worst, Harry, I’ve never wanted anything but you.  And it was crushing to see how things didn’t work out, and I didn’t know how to fix it.  I couldn't fix it.  And I didn’t know how to bring myself back from that.  But last year, on Christmas Eve, when I thought I’d never see you awake again, I realized then….  And I know that tonight was all sorts of fucked up when it wasn’t supposed to be, but it wasn’t like that.  I was--”

“Liam told me,” Harry said softly, his voice full of emotion.  “You don’t need to explain.  I don’t even care. I got caught up in the disappointment tonight Lou.  I was so excited to see you, and then when it seemed like everything was just turning to shit again, I was ready to run.  I shouldn’t have done that.  I shouldn’t have been so quick to jump to conclusions.  After the year we’ve had, a good year, one of the best, actually, I shouldn’t have jumped right back to the past.  And for the first time, in a long time,” Harry said, “I can see a better time.  And all our dreams are gonna come true.”

  
  
  



End file.
